


The Bottle

by theelusiveflamingo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But whatever, F/F, It's Cersei, Smutty Westeros, some misogyny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 09:39:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2768399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theelusiveflamingo/pseuds/theelusiveflamingo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cersei thinks she drinks to handle her secrets better.  She doesn’t realize that by just showing up at Taena’s door with her balance off and her eye contact just a little not right and her smile nothing like the cold stare of sober Cersei, she’s letting Taena know that she’s more full of unspoken things than anyone Taena’s met before.  And Taena likes that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bottle

**Author's Note:**

> Written last winter for smutty westeros.

“Give me the strongest shit you’ve got.”

“No, Cersei.”

“With every drink you give me I’ll let you take one more thing off.”

“But you hurt me last time, my love.”

“You’re a woman,” Cersei says.  “It’s your job to lie there and take it.”

“ _I’m_ a woman?  What are you then, sweet Cersei?”

“I’m your queen.”  And Cersei smiles so wide Taena can smell the booze on her breath.  It used to be wine, that stinging sweetness that wafted through the air just before their lips met, or before Cersei flashed a toothy grin.  But lately that scent has packed a harder punch.

Cersei thinks she drinks to handle her secrets better.  She doesn’t realize that by just showing up at Taena’s door with her balance off and her eye contact just a little not right and her smile nothing like the cold stare of sober Cersei, she’s letting Taena know that she’s more full of unspoken things than anyone Taena’s met before.  And Taena likes that.

“This country is not a monarchy,” Taena says, leaning forward and kissing Cersei softly on the lips before she can protest.  “I have no queen.  As much as I’d choose you to be mine if I had to have one.”

 “Fine, then, Taena,” Cersei sighs.  “If you won’t do it, then I will.”  And she begins to remove the clothes she’s come in with.  When Cersei comes over drunk in the middle of the night it’s always when Robert’s home and Jaime’s away and this particular combination means she almost, _almost_ , dresses like a normal person.  She sheds her yoga pants that she never wears for yoga because calm bodies aren’t Cersei’s thing.  She tosses that old ratty red sweatshirt of Jaime’s onto Taena’s new rug, and with a quick twist and snap her black lacy bra is off and she’s naked.

Taena’s never seen her naked before like this, not with all the lights on and no covers to dive underneath.  Even wavering on the balls of her feet, her knees buckling slightly the way Taena’s do when Cersei fucks her standing up, Cersei’s imposing.  Her skin is nearly unmarred, her tits don’t really sag, her hair pours down her back as golden as it was on the day Taena and Orton had first spotted her at that strange, sad swingers’ club a while ago.

She’s like a Northern European version of Taena, the sunrise to Taena’s star-studded night sky.  But Taena would never settle for anything less.  Superiority over inferiority’s not much to brag about—but feeling superior to a superior creature?  Now that’s something.

“Got any good wine?” Cersei asks.  “I’ll drink it while you stare at me.”  She tucks her hair behind her ear in a way that seems careless, but it exposes her plump nipples and the little reddish areolae that Taena’s only ever seen hints of in darkened rooms, and Taena wonders whether the exposure, the vulnerability, has happened to tease or to subconsciously show her desire.

“No more for you tonight, Cers,” Taena says, and steps forward to take one of Cersei’s nipples into her mouth.  “You smell so… _fermented_ , I’ll never drink again.”

Cersei slaps her hand away as soon as she sees it coming near her.  The slap stings.

 “Pretend I’m a sculpture, okay?  I’m a Greek statue at the fucking Met. You can look but you can’t touch.”

“Oh, Cersei,” Taena sighs, letting her voice drop down a few steps.  “Where’s the fun in that for me?  If I wanted to look at something beautiful, I would put on a movie.”

Cersei rolls her eyes like Taena is terribly ignorant.  “They always have cocks, right?”

“Who does?”

“Those sculptures.  You can pretend I have one too if you like.”

“Oh, Cersei!”   Taena sighs, pretending to shudder.  Poor Cersei has no idea how vulnerable she truly was.  And it’s beautiful, oh, it’s so beautiful.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” Cersei says.  “You want me to fuck you _hard_.  You want my cock inside you, right?”

Cersei has quite the filthy mouth.  Taena raises her eyebrows.  She’s getting wet from Cersei’s filthy mouth.  So is Cersei, she knows, though she’s never gotten a chance to feel her friend’s arousal for herself.

“Answer me, Taena,” Cersei goes on, her green eyes not quite focused on Taena now.  “Friends don’t ignore each other.”

“Yes, Cersei,” Taena finds herself saying.  Her cunt feels wetter with every word.  “I want your cock inside me, please.”  Will Cersei let Taena touch her tonight?  She imagines running her hands through the golden curls that Cersei keeps natural just to piss off Robert, running them down slowly to meet the wetness beneath, to stroke there slowly, slowly, listening to Cersei gasp, watching her toes start to curl, her thighs clench together, then stroking faster, faster, slipping two fingers—finally!—inside Cersei, and at last, getting to hear whose name she chooses to moan as her face and body fill with ecstasy. 

There’s a sudden noise and Taena realizes that Cersei has slipped away during this fantasy, only to return with an empty bottle of Cabernet from some old year or another.  (Taena and Cersei both pretend to care about the vintage; the truth is neither of them do.  _If it tastes good,_ Cersei whispered once, _then it tastes good, right?_ )

“Where’s that from?” Taena asks.  “Cers, did you bring an empty bottle here?  What—”  But Taena knows what it’s for. 

“Bend over the couch,” Cersei says, and even though Taena’s fully clothed and Cersei’s naked and teetering slightly on her feet, Taena assumes the enticingly humiliating position of bending over the couch arm.  The more she goes along with Cersei, the more fun it is for Cersei, and the more fun it is for Taena too.  Cersei’s fun is more than half the fun.

Cersei yanks down Taena’s blue sleep-shorts with a hand that isn’t even trying to be gentle.  Taena feels fingernails scrape her skin.  Cold brushes against the slick of her lips and Cersei exhales as Taena inhales and something hard and smooth and just a bit painful is entering her, filling her more than Cersei’s fingers would, making her try to breathe deep, trying to relax.

“Spread your legs more,” Cersei says.  “Come on, T.  Don’t you want me farther in?”  Her voice is lower than normal too, though whether it’s from the booze or arousal or she’s putting on a show just like Taena is not something Taena can say.  Could be all three, she thinks.

“It hurts,” she says, though the pain was only brief, and it’s passed now.

Cersei swirls the bottle round and round and begins to thrust the thing in and out slower than Taena would have expected. Taena rocks back against it, pressing her half-clothed ass against Cersei’s flushed skin, feeling her body straining slightly.  Cersei grabs at Taena’s hair with one hand and pulls Taena closer against her.  The bottle moves faster now, rubbing against the most sensitive spots inside Taena as it goes in and out, in and out.  She moans; she lets herself cry out Cersei’s name.

“Taena likes my cock, doesn’t she?”  Cersei’s voice sounds like it’s coming from far away.  “Tell me, T.  Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“That you fuck so well, my love.”

“Good,” Cersei says.  Then she tosses the bottle aside.  Taena is tempted to run over, pick it up and lick it, or demand that Cersei keep on fucking her with it, but Cersei’s putting on her clothes again, a tired and faraway look in her eyes.

“I’m going to sleep,” she says.  In Taena’s bed, but at this point that doesn’t need to even be said.  “You can come if you want.  Keep your clothes on, though.”

Taena kisses Cersei’s hand.  “It would be my pleasure, my love.”

Even with her legs shaking from not getting to orgasm, Taena feels victorious.

The more Taena lets Cersei do to her, the more Cersei belongs to her, whether Cersei realizes it or not.  Every time she fucks Taena and whispers _you pretty little slut, you fucking whore_ til Taena's come more times than she can count, she just makes herself more and more vulnerable.  If letting herself get dominated gains her more control over the beautiful, secretive, imperfect Cersei Lannister, Taena’s more than happy to take anything Cersei can come up with.

 


End file.
